One More Night. Jennifer McKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
her mother claimed were rife with material consumerism.
Grace breathed in slowly. The room was an ideal seventy-two degrees, which felt cool in the summer season. She reminded herself that after today she wouldn’t have to put up with Owen Ford again. That this wedding, like all her weddings, would find its rhythm and settle into the detailed and organized plan she’d create for it.
Really, Owen was a good reminder to her and everyone on her team that there was no fraternizing with the clients. Not with the wedding party, the family or the guests.
It was a hard-line policy, but one Grace felt was necessary. Weddings were ripe for sexcapades. Alcohol flowed, bodies pressed against one another on the dance floor, while everyone was groomed and dressed to look their best. And with the cultural overtones that were wrapped up in the idea of a wedding night, sex was on the brain.
Grace expected her staff to rise above all of that, and to ensure her events stayed classy and professional no matter what. Amorous couples were dispatched to conduct their business in private. Grace had personally caught guests going at it in the garden, in the bathroom and in the limo booked to whisk the newlyweds off at the end of the night. In all cases, she’d politely interrupted and suggested the couple in question might prefer to take their activities to a more private location. Like the bank of hotel rooms she always booked for her events.
She had a feeling she’d need a suite of rooms for Owen Ford.
The moment that thought entered her mind, Grace pushed it away. Owen’s personal amusements were none of her business. She was here to plan a wedding, not worry about what kind of problems the brother of the groom might cause. There would be plenty of time to worry about that once the location was selected, the cake ordered and the flowers chosen.
“Let’s discuss basics, Ms. Laurent.”
“Oh, please, call me Julia.”
“Call me Owen.”
Grace forced a polite smile she didn’t feel. “Of course, Julia. Please call me Grace.” She purposely didn’t look at Owen, keeping her attention focused where it should be—on the person getting married. “You said during our initial phone call that you’re thinking about a winter wedding. Did you have a specific date in mind?”
Julia talked about the quiet time in the restaurant industry and how she and her fiancé hoped to take advantage of that. Grace listened with both ears, but kept an eye on Owen. He looked too casual, too comfortable. And who came to a business meeting, even if it wasn’t his business, in shorts and flip-flops? Would it have killed him to put on a pair of pants and some closed-toe shoes?
“So January?” She returned her gaze to Julia. She was going to be an easy bride. Grace could already tell. None of the barely suppressed nerves or the tightly wound personality that some of her brides had.
They discussed a few options. Day or evening. Hotel or private venue. Indoor, outdoor or a mix of both. The number of guests. Their proposed budget made it clear that money wasn’t going to be an issue. No, any difficulties were going to come from availability and desire. Grace flicked another glance at Owen, who hadn’t added much to the discussion. He’d just sat there.
She felt the burn rise back up her cheeks when she saw he was looking at her and closed her leather notebook with a delicate flip. “I think we’ve got a good start.” She started a new book for each wedding she planned, filling the pages with notes and pictures on anything and everything. The wedding party, engagement parties, photographers, the dress, the food, every detail that might arise and plenty that didn’t.
Grace’s business offered full-service wedding-planning services and that meant she handled everything no matter how big or small. Though she’d started her own business just four years ago, she’d been in the industry for nine, honing her skills at larger, more established event-planning companies before branching out on her own. She’d already carved out a niche. The wedding planner for those who wanted style and class, traditional elegance.
She was expensive, but then so were her results. But her clients got what they paid for. Every detail was exquisite, every movement planned and prepared so that the whole day was a magical experience.
“I’ll come up with some prospective plans and send them to you and your fiancé. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting next week to discuss them?” Grace liked to move quickly. Although winter weddings weren’t nearly as popular as summer or spring, the best locations always booked up quickly and often months or years ahead of time. She didn’t want to get caught flat-footed on what was sure to be one of the biggest weddings of the season.
She’d manage the media attention, too. She had contacts at the papers, reporters who would be all too happy to feature a pair of local celebrities and their splashy event. Or she could bar them, keeping photos and attention directed elsewhere to allow the bride and groom privacy.
“And please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Grace said. She’d learned over the years that keeping in regular contact with her clients was the best way to manage any surprises. This way there were no last-minute bombs dropped that she couldn’t negotiate.
“Absolutely.” Julia stood, pushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Grace. I’m really looking forward to this.”
Grace was, too. Not just the wedding day, but the deeper meaning behind it. Grace could always tell which brides were about playing princess and had been planning their wedding since they were six and which were motivated not by the ceremony, but the future it represented.
She smiled, feeling Julia’s happiness wash over her. This was why she did it. To know that she had a hand in creating a happy day that would hopefully lead to a long and happy future. A future she wanted for herself. And one she planned to start working toward now that her business was more secure and didn’t require her to work quite so many extra hours.
“I’ll see you out.” Grace was conscientious about not excluding Owen from the conversation, much as she might like to. She led them down her “hall of fame,” where she displayed the photos from her favorite events, walking slowly, allowing them to pause and study the black-and-white prints. The reaction often gave her a solid base from which to start.
Did the bride halt in front of garden photos or rocky cliffs? Did her eyes widen at the clean lines of a regimented wedding party or the scattered cluster of bodies? The photos often gave the couple ideas, as well. Most times, they specifically referred to a photo or two during their second meeting.
Grace noted Julia’s pauses, the hesitation by the cityscapes. Rooftop patios with the buildings laid out below them. Night shots where the streetlights twinkled in the distance. Good. Very good.
But she didn’t feel quite so good when she glanced at Owen. His eyes were on her rather than the pictures. Grace swallowed and kept her gait steady.
She didn’t expect him to study them. Not exactly. He likely would have no say in the choices made, but she didn’t expect him to gawk at her, either. She longed to fiddle with the cuff of her suit jacket or straighten her skirt, but that would betray the uncertainty writhing within her and she wouldn’t do that.
Instead, she took long, slow breaths, the way she’d learned in her Pilates class. The deep and full inhalation and the complete exhalation. It was meant to cleanse and invigorate and Grace generally found this to be true when she was in class. The long, lean bodies stretched around her, each of them working to reach the same goal. But now, she just felt light-headed.
She was glad when they reached the lobby and the safety it provided with both her new hire, Hayley, and the front door.
“Grace, thank you again.” Julia turned with a warm smile and took Grace’s hands in hers. It didn’t surprise Grace, the extra touching. She made connections with her clients—they were entrusting her with one of the most important days of their lives and a connection was natural. But Julia’s sincerity did.
“It’s a pleasure.” Which was pretty much what she said to all her clients, but this time